Laying back on the bed, I swallow hard, my heart lurching. I don’t want him to leave. The thought of it makes my heart swell with regret. “You can stay. You don’t have to leave.”
“I can’t,” he says, his words slow and precise at the same time. He bows his head, and my gaze shifts to the window. Raindrops trickle down the windowpane, unrelenting, kind of like my nerves. At the door, he glances back at me from over his shoulder, his cigarette dangling from his lips. Smoke billows from his nose and mouth with a soft sigh. His expression sways, but the trouble in his eyes doesn’t. He’s still the same guy he was when he emerged from the fog, mysterious and discontent.
Warmth circulates across my cheeks. I want to thank him, and beg him to stay, but I do neither, unsure of his reaction. Without words, he exits the room, the soft click that follows tears at me. I’m plagued with thoughts of our time together, and now a sense of emptiness. I wonder if he left because of me.
My finger raises to the puckered skin on my chest, thick and lumpy, the memory of the day still festering and present. The past is the past for a reason, and a scar is evident of growth, but I don’t believe it, or at least know how to.
Mast - Vertical spar that supports sails.
I knew better.
I fucking knew better, but the sight of her swallowed me whole and left me unprepared, too terrified to see myself in her eyes. Too afraid to know the connection fabricated deep within my bones, and pull the thread that would unravel the truth.
With the sky teetering on the edge of lavender and blue, fog blankets the streets, enveloping everything in a plush white cloud. I walk in silence, attempting to justify my actions and come to terms with the door I just opened, but I can’t.
I think about the starburst pink that found her cheeks when I stood by the door, and her full lips colored in cherry. I told myself I’d never come here. Ever. I wouldn’t step foot in this town. I tried not to. I told myself that because I knew who was here. I knew what I’d do if I was in the same town as her.
Pushing out a breath, I groan. “What the fuck were you thinking?”
Nobody answers me. Truth is I wasn’t thinking.
I wanted to see her face, to know if she was happy, or sad, or simply existing… like me. I don’t know why I chose to walk into that bar. I might never know, but I like to think it didn’t have anything to do with me. And that’s a dangerous place to be held in when nothing is in your control.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t recognize her name. I did. I do. I knew the moment she rounded the bar and headed for our table who she was.
Did I want to find her? Yes.
Did I want to know her? No. Not a fucking chance in hell did I want that.
But still, I saw what I wanted and took it, regardless of what it means. I know what it means. It won’t come without devastation for her.
I make my way through the streets, trying to rationalize my actions. Nothing provides relief. I take my time and walk the same path near the docks I’d walked with her, when I slipped so easily into her life by the way her dark eyes captivated me. I stare at the water, the boat barely visible through the fog. Rain drenches the pier. The air smells of fresh water and a salty breeze. It’s funny how I grew up in this town, but I don’t remember a goddamn thing about it, other than wanting to leave.
I pass by the bar draped in darkness from its usual neon beer signs lighting the front. I curse myself for even entering it when I knew I shouldn’t. Bear didn’t know, no one, but I knew the real reason I walked inside the doors of Weldon’s Pub.
Chained to the past, I make my way to my dad’s house. I push my key into the lock and twist. the old wooden door, with years of chipped white paint flaking, creaks as I open it.
Bear’s asleep on the couch, his arms around a boy I rarely get to see these days. Atlas is the reason I’m here, or maybe it’s her, too. I’d be lying if I said it was either-or.
With a shaky grip on reality, I make my way over to them, the faint light of the kitchen enough to make out his face. His cheeks are pink and warm, his dark lashes fluttering through dreams. For a moment, I think my entrance woke him, but he remains asleep, unaware of my presence.
Atlas’s arm flops off the couch. I gently fold it against his chest and then drape a blanket over them. Feels kind of strange tucking my younger brother and son in, but it wouldn’t be the first time. I’ve spent a lifetime taking care of Bear, but Atlas, I can’t help but think I should be doing better. For him, for his mother. I watch him sleep for a moment. His eyes, his chin, everything about him reminds me of his mother.
“There’s coffee,” a gruff voice mumbles behind me. Dad’s shoulder is pressed into the wooden doorframe leading to the small galley kitchen.
The years haven’t been kind to him, but he’s still the same weathered man who taught me everything I know about fishing.
Dad hands me a cup of coffee. I take it and look over his shoulder at the sky beginning to lighten. “Bear said you guys brought in about sixteen hundred tuna?”
I nod and take the coffee cup from him. “We did good.” I reach for the whiskey on the counter and pour two fingers in it.
“Not bad for ten days.” I can’t tell if he’s complimenting me or not. The fact is, Fletcher Hardy, he’s rogue on the water, and no one compares to him. He’s a legend up the west coast for his ability to hunt albacore tuna. He’s been hunting them his entire life and knows their habits. He knows where to look for them, and the term “let’s go where no man has gone before” doesn’t apply to him. Because he’s been there. Done that before you even thought twice about it.
“You boys headin’ out again?” he asks, his voice brimming with curiosity. He may have retired from the water some years ago, but you won’t stop him from wanting to be a part of it.
I slip into a seat at the table. “Probably tomorrow. I wanna spend a day with Atlas.”
We should be heading out again today. We need to. We’re just getting to the point where we can cover our overheads and make it through the off-season. It’s been a rough season with warm water pushing the tuna further south, and we’re getting toward the end of the season. For the past three months, we’ve turned the coast into a gold mine, landing hundreds of thousands of albacore tuna. But with the early days of September gone now, fall is approaching fast, and the season is coming to an end. This year has been our biggest payday yet, but we still haven’t met our quota given to us by Snider Fish Company. Sure, we fish throughout the year, work different seasons and species, but albacore tuna is where our money is made. We were born and raised to hunt tuna by the man in front of me. It’s in our blood.
Dad sits across from me, pushing his thick, graying hair from his forehead. “I enrolled him in school.”
Irritation courses through me. I specifically told him not to do that. “Dad.” I groan. “You didn’t have to. I could have done that when we got back to Ilwaco.”
He leans forward, his elbows resting on the lip of the table. “I’ve been thinking he should stay here.” His eyes soften. “It’s better this way.”
I set the cup down on the table with a thud, my voice louder than it should be. “Better for you, or him?”